A Kiss-mas Story
by notapepper
Summary: Five times mistletoe was the perfect excuse (and one time it was trouble).
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I wrote this for StarryDreamer01 as part of the FitzSimmons Secret Santa exchange on tumblr. The prompt was "Last Night in London".

This story is set in the world established by my Academy fic, Oh To Be Young, and its sequel, The Shots You Don't Take. However, you should be able to follow the story without having read either of those before.

* * *

><p><em>Wednesday, November 28<em>

**The first time, she followed the rules and did what was expected.**

"Hey, you two!"

Simmons jerked to her right, knee bumping against the bottom of her desk and almost dropping her pen as Penelope shook a branch of _something _next to her ear.

"Ugh, what are you-" Fitz was cut off by their classmate's next exclamation.

"It's mistletoe, you guys! And you _know_, it's bad luck to ignore mistletoe!" she cautioned in a teasing singsong.

"That's bollocks. Besides, it's too early for mistletoe. It's not even Thanksgiving."

Simmons chipped in, "Thanksgiving was last week, Fitz. Didn't you notice half the student body was gone?"

Fitz shrugged defensively. "It's flu season, I don't know. We mostly stayed in the lab. Either way, it's still the wrong month for mistletoe. Consequently," he turned to Penelope and raised his eyebrows in challenge, "I refuse to participate in this sham."

Penelope shook the twig and looked as if she was about to begin lecturing them on holiday tradition, and not wishing to witness another of Fitz's arguments, Simmons did the most logical thing. It wasn't as if this hadn't come up over the past two Christmases.

"Fitz, don't be such a fusspot." She leaned over and pecked him quickly on the cheek, trying to avoid noticing the blush that matched her own.


	2. Chapter 2

_Friday, December 7_

**The second time, she was only trying to help.**

They were sitting in a booth at the Boiler Room, toasting their impending graduation. The thought that in less than a month, they'd be done at the Academy, at their respective homes for the holidays and fervently packing up in anticipation of their new jobs at the SHIELD Sci-Ops labs, it was… well, it was surreal. Leaving this place, ending her academic career, and going into the work force for the first time, it was all more than a little intimidating. But she felt good about the future, knowing Fitz would be with her.

Of course, she hadn't always appreciated Fitz's full appeal… for over a year of their partnership, she'd managed to stay unaffected by his, ahem, more physical charms. She'd been _aware _of them, of course (who could possibly ignore the size of those palms or the length of those fingers?) but her personal preferences had always run a bit more towards the traditional masculine ideal - tall, well-muscled, impeccable teeth. And, in fairness, she'd found plenty of that at the Academy, but she couldn't deny that none of the men she'd been with had been able to hold her attention.

As Simmons was no fool, it hadn't taken her _that _much longer before she realized that the only person she was interested in here, was Fitz. The attraction that had sprung up soon after was really more of an inconvenience than anything else - what good did it do to try to pinpoint the exact shade of Fitz's eyes, when those eyes were trained on his work? At least, when he was staring at his lab table, he couldn't see the coral tinting her skin.

So she watched him from the corner of her eye, sipping her ale and listening to a group of Xenobiology cadets taunt Kibbles and Bits (Lopez and Pierce, these days - professionalism!) into locking lips under the mistletoe. After a few return taunts, the girls kissed - with a bit more gusto than perhaps anticipated - drawing raucous cheers from the tipsy crowd and a screeched "I knew it!" from Sally Webber.

"Shameless," grumbled Fitz, face souring as he tried not to look and failed spectacularly.

"Oh, Fitz. They're just having fun. Get into the Christmas spirit!"

"I'd rather get into the _spirits_. Y' want a cider?" At Simmons' nod, Fitz scooted out of the booth and headed to where Tim was tending bar, putting in his drink order and stopping there to talk to his classmate for a second.

It was right about then, in between appreciating his profile and the way the artificial light bounced off the swoop of his curls, that she noticed the small greyish plant above Fitz's head.

_Hmm. _If anyone saw that, they'd likely try to force him into kissing Tim - and Fitz was squeamish enough about PDA when it was with his best friend, much less a relative stranger.

_I'm just being a good friend, really._ Even if the idea of kissing Fitz under the mistletoe was beginning to heat her skin in a decidedly un-friend-like way. And never mind that if she were _only _being a friend, she'd merely draw Fitz away from where he was standing_._ Decision formed and teetering at the edge of her brain like an overeager diver, Simmons squirmed out of her seat and came up to the bar.

"Simmons, what? I was going t' bring it…"

"Got tired of waiting." She accepted the glass from the bartender with murmured thanks and took a delicate sip. "Then I thought, it might be nice to sit up here for a bit."

"Oh, er. All right." The quick flutter of hurt that crossed Fitz's eyes was, like most of his facial expressions, unsubtle.

"Fitz…" Her lab partner occasionally required a bit of maintenance. "What's that look for?"

"Nothin'." Fitz pouted a bit into his tumbler. "Just, if y' want to talk to Tim, I can leave."

"What?" Simmons glanced at the well-formed cadet, who'd moved across to speak to some girls at the end of the bar. "Why would I want to talk to him? Have you forgotten-"

"-how you made a fool of yourself in front of him? Of course I haven't forgotten; I have an excellent memory," Simmons rolled her eyes as he continued, "but I also know how charming y' can be when you're embarrassed- I mean, some guys might- he could find that sort of thing charming-" Fitz was slowly turning a deep raspberry color. Simmons might even have felt bad for him, if she weren't so intensely curious to discover where he was going with this train of thought.

"Awww… you _guys_… FitzSimmons are under the mistletoe!"

Simmons bit the inside of her cheek, controlling her groan. Thanks to Bits' interruption, now she'd never find out what Fitz thought she wanted with Tim. _Or how charming he thinks I am._

On a more positive note, this _was _why she'd installed herself in the stool next to her best friend - might as well make the best of it. She looked up, poorly executed surprise on her face. "Why, look at that! So we are."

Thankfully, Fitz was still flustered enough from their conversation that he didn't appear to notice her bad acting. "Oh, erm. Not very safe, that. We should get out from under it. We do _not _want to get poisoned."

"Honestly, it's nowhere near you. What do you think's going to happen?"

"Well, I don't know, Simmons, it has berries, one of which could… fall. Into my drink. And then where would we be?" Fitz slid off his own stool and planted his hands on the back of his hips with a smug look. "The hospital."

"You're ridiculous," she laughed. "If anyone's ending up in the hospital, it's Bits - she's about to have an aneurism."

Indeed, the bubbly cadet was busily gathering witnesses and making excited get-on-with-it shooing gestures at the pair of scientists.

"Y' know mistletoe gets its name from the words for _dung _and _stick_, right? Least romantic parasite ever."

"Shhhh… I told _you _that. And the myth behind the kissing tradition comes from scores of historical associations," she began ticking them off on her fingers, "with fertility, sexuality, aphrodis-"

Fitz dropped his forehead to the counter and ran both hands through his curls. "Jemma..." The protest was muffled, and she couldn't resist scritching at the sleeve of his jumper until he lifted his head and looked her in the eye.

"Well?" Simmons offered, doing her best to innocently bat her lashes. "It's your turn, this time."

The tug of war playing out across Fitz's face was rather adorable, the quirk of his lip that signaled interest, the twitch in his brow that showed indecision, the clench of his jaw that could only be determination. She'd have watched it indefinitely, this intermingling of muscles and thought, but suddenly Fitz was leaning forward and grazing her cheek with his lips. As if by instinct (a puzzling notion, to be dealt with later) Simmons turned her face into his, the corners of their mouths just barely brushing before Fitz sprang away.

"Come on," he muttered. "We've still got one more exam to revise for."

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><p>AN: There's a Glee reference in here, Starry! Imaginary internet points to you if you find it!


	3. Chapter 3

_Saturday, December 15_

**The third time, she was not good at improvisation.**

"Does he _have _to do that?" Fitz's voice, so close to her ear, barely managed to carry over the din of the party. He pointed to the karaoke corner, where Jonesy was drunkenly warbling out, "Chest-bumps broasting on an open fire..."

Simmons rolled her eyes. "It's his house, Fitz. Jonesy and Herrick can do whatever they please."

Almost as if she'd summoned him, Fitz's former roommate appeared behind them, resting his elbows on the back of the couch and curving his long torso down to talk to them. "Glad you could make it, buddy." Herrick thumped him heavily on the shoulder before turning his cowboy smile on Simmons. "You too, darlin'. Freshen up y'all's drinks?" He stretched an arm out over the sofa and made to grab their empty bottles, bringing his face directly between them.

"What in blazes have y' got on your head?"

They were your typical bargain-store Christmas antlers, wired onto a headband, but upon further inspection, they seemed to have something else attached.

"You like that? Jonesy got'em for us." With a deep, rumbling laugh, Herrick planted a rather sloppy kiss on Fitz's nose, earning him a disgusted wince, before doing the same to Simmons. "Be right back with those drinks."

Seeing the mistletoe atop Herrick's antlers (and hanging off Jonesy's belt, now that she knew to look) promptly reminded Simmons of that particular yuletide tradition, as well as its mostly-untapped potential in devising a scheme to kiss her best friend. Previous Christmases _had _afforded similar opportunities, she supposed, but the timing simply hadn't been right, and they'd always sidestepped their classmates' expectations with small, chaste pecks on the cheek or forehead.

She was pulled out of her reverie by a very loud and out-of-tune "Silent night, broly night…"

"Oh, for God's- Jonesy! Shouldn't you've graduated by now? Why are you _here_?!" Fitz turned to her with a pitiful frown. "This is a punishment, that's what it is. He's gettin' back at me for makin' fun of him all those times."

Considering the beefy cadet's level of intoxication, it was rather impressive that Jonesy managed to flip Fitz the bird without missing a beat, all the while singing, "All is boss, all is tight…" Perhaps even more impressive was the perfectly timed hip thrust that he aimed in their direction on the next stanza.

"Oh, hush. I think he's being quite inventive. What's got you all snarly, anyway? I never pegged you for a Grinch."

Fitz scrubbed a hand over his face and and lowered his hands into his lap, keeping his gaze locked on them. Thumbs pulling against each other, he eventually sighed. "I like Christmas, y' know that." He gestured half-heartedly at his snowman jumper as if to make the point.

"Then what is it? Exams are over, graduation is in a few days, and after that, you get to visit your mum for nearly a month."

Fitz scratched at his ear, nodding, but still avoiding her eyes. She tried again.

"We've worked hard for this, Fitz. We're _agents _now. We deserve a bit of fun!"

"Hmm." Then, a bit quieter, so she had to strain to hear, "And here I thought the work _was _fun."

"Well, of course it was!" she chirped brightly, determined not to let him pull her into his funk. "But we're off to our next grand adventure, now! Aren't you excited about starting fresh at Sci-Ops?"

"Yeah, I s'pose." He hunched his shoulders, frustration edging the movement. "It's just… it's hard to think that our time as students is done. I can't remember a time when I _wasn't _in school. And we've only just started fittin' in here, invited to parties n' whatnot. Makes me wonder what else might change, that's all."

"Oh, Fitz." She rubbed her thumb in a soothing arc over the collar of his jumper. "Not everything will be different. We'll still be in the lab together."

"I know that. But it's a much bigger- with new people- you know what, just forget I mentioned it. You should, er… go dance. Or somethin'."

Simmons scoffed. "As if anyone could dance to this." She waved vaguely in the direction of Jonesy belting out 'Get it, Bro, Get it, Bro, Get it, Bro'. "Come on." She grabbed Fitz by the wrist and did her best to tug him off the sofa. "Up you get!"

"What? Simmons, wh-"

"It's a party. We're having fun. Come on!"

Relenting, Fitz heaved himself up from his seat and allowed her to pull him along. However, when he saw that she was headed for the karaoke machine, he dug in his heels, grinding them both to a stop. "No. Jemma, no! I can't sing for crap, and if I'm bein' honest, neither can you."

"Rude. Aren't you the one who mocked me once for being a Disney princess?" Simmons knew she couldn't hold a tune; still, she pursed her lips, daring him to challenge her. God help their - _her _- children if they ever wanted to hear a lullaby.

"Okay, in my defense, you were surrounded by actual woodland creatures. And that's completely beside the point- I'm not gonna- even Jonesy's pregnant-whale noises're preferable to-"

Which was precisely when Jonesy began a new song, at a decibel level entirely too high for polite company. "Just see those new rims glistenin' pimp-tunes listenin' yo… come on it's nice-ass weather for a sweet ride together hey bro…"

Simmons arched a saucy eyebrow. "You were saying?"

"Fine. You win, Simmons, I'll do anythin' to make that stop."

"Outside the girls are walkin' and they be rockin' them jeans… come on it's nice-ass weather for a sweet ride together girl please…"

Fitz glared pointedly at the makeshift stage and headed back towards it.

"There y'all are!" Herrick materialized at their side, holding out two plastic cups of a creamy, off-white beverage. "Keg's tapped out. Reckon egg nog'll do ya?"

"It's fine, thank you." Simmons reached out and accepted both cups as graciously as possible, considering Fitz was peering into them and wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Simmons, it's got _raw eggs_ in it. We're goin' t' die." Fitz made this last pronouncement with his standard sense of finality.

"Uncool, bro! Don't dog the nog!" A few feet away onstage, Jonesy was shout-slurring into the mic, having abandoned his carols in order to defend the iconic dairy-based libation. He swiped a massive paw their way. "Give it here. Leopold doesn't know what he's missin'."

_Well, I'm certainly not drinking both cups._ She turned, stepping slightly closer to the enormous galoot, and held the cup out to him.

"Hold up a spell, Simmons." From behind her, she heard Herrick's drawl, and jumped slightly as she felt him deposit something onto her head. "On account of you were sayin' you wanted to have some fun." She could hear the snicker behind his words, and seeing as she _had _fussed with her hair a bit tonight (regardless of whether or not certain engineers appreciated it) Simmons spun around to inform Herrick that she didn't appreciate having random items plunked into her coif.

And found herself nearly nose-to-nose with Fitz, who evidently had not been expecting her to turn back. Caught off guard, both of them stunned by the proximity, it seemed to Simmons as if the outside world had shrunk right along with her field of vision. Fitz's eyes flicked up to the mistletoe dangling over them, then to her eyes, her lips, and finally… over to Jonesy, his face dropping instantly into annoyance.

"Fitzzzyyyy! Get on it, Bro-seidon! Straight to the top of Mount Bro-lympus!"

A familiar flush began to blossom over Fitz's cheeks. She could have killed the piggish cadet.

"It's not the size of your pitchfork, it's the motion of the bro-cean!"

_Good God._ Naturally, Jonesy hadn't bothered to lower the mic, so now they had an audience for this little exchange. Simmons half-turned, irritated. "Poseidon has a _trident_, not a pitchfork. At least be consistent, if you're going to spout nonsense."

"Oooh, Spunky, gettin' in those jabs! Hey- hey, hot stuff, I got a riddle for ya. If athletes get athlete's foot, what do astronauts get?"

_Planet-ar fasciitis? No, far too clever._ Simmons shook her head, sighing. She knew Jonesy well enough to anticipate his crass sense of humor. "A… leak in the… cockpit?"

"What? No, damn. That's gross. You're gross. I was gonna say missile-toe. Damn."

"But what do missiles - oh, I understand. You see, I pronounce words _properly_, so that joke really wouldn't-"

"Jemma, just let it go," came Fitz's anxious plea beside her, hands twitching faintly as his gaze ricocheted between Jonesy and the spectators.

"Yeah, girl, go on. Throw my boy some sugar!"

"No, that's- I wasn't saying- oh, sod it." Fitz threw his hands up in exasperation and, between a slight stumble and the beers he'd drunk that night, managed to press his mouth directly over her right eyebrow in a poorly-aimed attempt at appeasing the voyeurs.

"Naw, son, your game's weak! Gotta go in guns blazing, Rambro!"

She wiped her brow dry as she looked Fitz over, the greenish tint to his desperation making her wish they'd never accepted Herrick's blasted invitation. _Just kiss him properly._ It was what she wanted to do, it would get Jonesy off their back, and probably cheer Fitz up some, if she was lucky. If it had the opposite effect, well... that would provide an important data point for their relationship. _Plausible deniability. The perfect excuse._ On the other hand, Jonesy was being incredibly obnoxious, and Simmons didn't really want to give him the satisfaction. _Well, this is a pickle._ Fortunately (was it?) Fitz made the decision for her.

"C'mon, I need somethin' to drink that doesn't make me want t' chuck up."

Feeling strangely hollow, she followed Fitz out into the backyard and away from the disappointed booing of their graduating class.

The frosted breeze snaking through the darkness was enough to ensure that their only company were couple of smokers huddled together around a small hibachi, grilling kebabs and chatting softly. Fitz stuck his hand into one of the coolers, swallowing a yelp at the icy contact, and pulled out two bottled waters before offering one to Simmons. She scanned the yard for a place to sit, and within moments they'd installed themselves on top of an overturned kayak, shoulders gently bumping as they got their balance on the slanted surface.

Finally settled, they drank their water in silence, listening to the filtered sounds of the party coming from the back door.

"You know, from this vantage, Jonesy's singing is almost passable." She let amusement paint her voice, prompting a smile.

"Don't even joke about that," Fitz warned wryly. "Though I suppose it's lucky _we _didn't end up tryin' our hand at it. Your sad excuse for a two-part harmony would most likely make everyone's ears bleed."

She huffed, shoving him in mock indignance and forgetting the slightly precarious nature of their perch. Thrown off-kilter, Fitz grabbed at her arms, using her weight against his, and just barely managed to avoid tumbling sideways off the kayak. The result, however, was that Simmons became, precipitously, very much ensconced in Fitz's hold. The white puff of his breath danced over her cheekbone, their faces close enough to make individual features blur. This was an entirely new kind of perspective, the shadows casting graphite over his jaw and ear, the smell of detergent wafting off his shirt, the grit of his evening stubble _itching _for something to scrape against and the slight thump under his skin, that sanguine crossroads where blood met rhythm, drawing her in with its steady percussion.

Much as it had been throughout the night, Fitz's voice sounded startlingly close to her ear. Now, however, the murmured pitch of it suffused a welcome heat throughout her chest, a bolster against the chill night air. "Y'know, you're still wearin' that silly thing."

"Hmmm…" Simmons hummed in agreement, tipping her head forward to snuggle in closer against Fitz. This was working out better than she could've anticipated.

"Argh!" The next second, Fitz was pushing her shoulders back with one hand and rubbing at his temple with the other. "_Jemma!_ Y' got me right in the eyeball!" His tone was full of accusation.

"By accident, you big baby," she _tsked_. "Let me see, then." Simmons grabbed his chin and tilted it back. "Blink?" She angled his face to one side, then the other. "I'm fairly certain you're fine. But if it'll make you feel better, I can take this 'silly thing' off." Her hand came up to tug on the headband.

"Well, now, hold on! You never- We didn't- It's bad luck t' just…"

If she hadn't already decided that Leopold Fitz was the cutest thing around since people started photographing baby hedgehogs, watching him flail about trying to explain why she had to kiss him would've done the trick.

"We'll be traveling soon." She said it briskly, matter-of-fact, in a bid to hide her nerves. "Can't have an ill omen like that hanging over us, can we?"

Pushing the antlers farther out of the way, Simmons leaned forward, letting her lips dust over his before connecting. His breath met hers, sand greeting the ocean, both sides tentatively changing and molding to each other with every wave. Fitz's warm, wide palm came up to cradle the back of her head, skimming reverently over her curls as if any sudden move would upset the precious ecosystem between their lips, and she quickly discovered she couldn't remember or care how long she'd spent on her hair.

They might have stayed that way for ages, caught in that threshold between hesitance and surrender, but with only one hand for stability , Fitz promptly lost his balance again and slipped off the kayak, nearly taking her along in an ungainly heap.

The moment shattered like a sugar flower. A few seconds of flummoxed staring, a nervous giggle, and Fitz was on his feet, brushing off his trousers, while Simmons yanked her headgear all the way off. _Nice going, Jemma. He's really fallen for you now. _But even a well-executed pun couldn't fend off her disappointment. Walking close, the backs of their hands grazing, but without a word from either of them, FitzSimmons rejoined the bustle and noise of the party.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sunday December 23 (morning)_

**The fourth time, she excelled at preparation.**

"Fitz, stop fidgeting, it's distracting."

"Can't help it. These seats are far too small for any normal person to be comfortable."

"They're the same size they've always been," - Fitz disagreed inaudibly, which she chose to ignore - "and really, _your _height is probably what they had in mind when they designed them."

Fitz leveled her with a flat look. "Oh, short jokes? That's rich, coming from you."

Simmons briefly wondered if he'd always been like this, or if he'd simply lost the filter between his brain and his mouth when it came to her. "I wasn't disparaging your stature, just pointing out that you're not half as cramped as, say, someone like Victoria Hand."

Fitz shifted and twisted under his thin airline blanket, propping the Chiclet of a pillow up next to the window, and muttered, "_Victoria Hand_ would be flyin' first class."

Eventually, though, he nodded off, and when she was certain he wouldn't stir, Simmons took a quick walk up to the hostesses' station.

It was several hours later as they were deplaning, shuffling along at the back of the passenger line, that Simmons felt her heart hitch in her throat.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Holidays!"

"Thanks for flying with us!"

"Have a nice day!"

"Buh-bye!"

The captain and crew were at the hatch, waving on the weary stream of travelers, and she watched them getting closer with an increasingly panicked pulse. _Oh, this was a terrible idea._ Fitz had just woken up from his fitful nap and was behaving a bit like an unhibernated bear, grumbling about caffeine and utterly convinced that, after being made to stow the quadcopters' case in the overhead compartment, his drones had suffered some kind of damage.

Finally, they reached the front of the cabin.

"Hello there, young man," a matronly airline hostess, Donna by her nametag, held out a small paper mug of coffee. "You look like you could use this."

Simmons tried to put as much gratitude into one look as she could, even as Fitz reached for the stimulant with greedy hands.  
>"Thanks, you're a lifesaver."<p>

A younger flight attendant offered Fitz a stirring straw, and a small porcelain tray stuffed with packets of sugar and creamer. After a minute or so of him doctoring his cup, they were the last people on the plane.

"Honestly, you're too kind." Simmons smiled a bit too wide, accepting a similar cup of tea.

"We're big on service here." Their captain, a stout, avuncular man with a handlebar mustache, handed her a napkin. "So, what do you folks do?"

She took a large swallow of her tea. "Actually, this one's an aerospace engineer." She inclined her head towards her best friend.

"That so? This is one of the new redesigned carbon-fiber 787s. One of the only models with a glass cockpit. You want to take a look, son?"

Fitz perked up a bit. "Yeah?" He turned to Simmons, eyebrows raised in pleased surprise, and couldn't resist giving her a triumphant little smirk. "See? The seats _are _different."

She was more focused on the small nod she'd just gotten from Donna. "Why not? We have a few minutes." She managed to keep her tone casual and light, and mentally patted herself on the back.

They spent a bit looking at the multi-function displays, reconfigurable controls, and making small talk about the jet's highly optimized shape and improved winglets. Fitz couldn't stop the happy noise in the back of his throat when the pilot pulled out the blueprints, noting a handful of ideas he'd come up with independently in his own schematics, and clearly relishing the mental puzzle of how to maximize the plane's performance even further. Nevertheless, after a few minutes, it was time to go.

As they filed out, Donna stopped them and pointed up. "My, my, who put _that _up there?" To her credit and Simmons' everlasting appreciation, she gave them a broad wink - the implication blatant that _she _was playing matchmaker, absolving Simmons of any conspiracy.

Fitz's ears immediately turned red upon seeing the branch of plastic mistletoe taped to the low ceiling, and he ducked his head slightly. "I, er, I think you've got the wrong, er, impression..."

_Oh, God. Abort. Abort. This is why I was in Sci-Tech and not Spec-Ops. Abort!_ But the plan was in motion, and Simmons was tongue-tied. So she waited.

"Oh, baloney. You two are such a cute couple! You've just _got _to have a kiss under the mistletoe. It's Christmas!"

"Fitz?" Simmons' voice was soft in the narrow space, and he lifted his head, blinking at her. _Donna went to all that trouble._ She couldn't back out now. In a rush, before she lost her nerve, Simmons grabbed him by the tie and tilted her mouth up into his, more confident this time than she had been the week before. After his initial surprise, Fitz's eyes fluttered shut, reminding her to do the same. His hands, quiet reminders of his thoughtfulness, landed cautiously on her waist, nudging her closer. And then he kissed her back.

The push and pull of his lips on hers was a hypnotist's pendulum, and Simmons was trapped irrevocably in its cadence. When he pressed back against her, his tongue asking a silent question, she answered with her own, teeth parting just so, the beginnings of a much-anticipated journey into mystery.

"Ahem."

The captain's cough jolted her back like a blast of cold air after the enveloping steam of a shower. _An excruciatingly __**short **__shower._ They were, however, completely blocking the pathway and the crew.

"Oh! Oh, goodness, we've got to-" She flapped her hands in the general direction of the exit ramp.

"Right, luggage, we should-"

"Yeah."

Faces burning, they scurried off the plane and down into Heathrow Airport.

* * *

><p>AN: Fitz is carrying a case with "quadcopters" because I'm not sure FitzSimmons would have had the DWARFs at this point in time, but I feel like they might have had built some sort of precursor to them.

Oh, and that plane is real. And cool.

And, incidentally, the next chapter is MUCH longer and actually contains my favorite part, so, y'know. Stay tuned?


	5. Chapter 5

_Sunday December 23 (afternoon)_

**The fifth time, she didn't force him to follow her anywhere.**

"I can't believe we walked the whole South Bank market and didn't find anything for my neighbor," Fitz managed to enunciate around a mouthful of bratwurst and sauerkraut.

Simmons tamped down the urge to scold him for his manners. They were, after all, eating while walking, so it was entirely possible that ship had sailed already. "Well, I'd hardly call it a wasted trip - the sun is out, and the river was lovely. Besides, I found a present for John's girlfriend."

"I'm telling you, you're overthinkin' it. I mean, your brother invited her, what, a week ago? And we're not even doin' presents tonight, so I'm sure she's not expectin' anything, unless she's one of those over-gifters..." Fitz's expression turned paranoid. "We _aren't _exchanging gifts at dinner, right? Because if the plan's changed you've got to tell me these things, Simmons. I haven't got anything for anyone but you."

"Relax, Fitz. You're safe from societal expectation for the night." Simmons bumped affectionately into his side, using the momentum as an excuse to curl herself into his body heat as closely as she dared while still technically only linking arms. His last sentence made her smile. It was one thing to know that he'd gotten her a present, because of course he had - ever since that Christmas when she'd shown up with a basket of baked goods and a card to a mortifyingly empty-handed Fitz, he hadn't missed a single gift-giving opportunity. Still, it was one thing to _know _he'd been thinking about her and picked something out. It was another to hear him talk about it.

"Eh… expectations aren't so bad," Fitz grinned, and as she turned to face him, she caught what might've been the tail end of an eyebrow wag. _Did he just- is he flirting?_

She was pulled out of her speculation when they reached the enormous entrance to Covent Garden market and stepped inside. She sucked in a breath at the spellbinding holiday décor, and would have worried that Fitz was going to make fun of her, but when she snuck a peek, he was just as dazzled as she was.

Shining red orbs twice her height hung suspended in midair, filling the space from the second story of the market up to the ornate windowed ceiling. Interspersed with the massive Christmas ornaments, glittering mirrored balls sent flecks of light scattering off all available surfaces. Pine boughs lined every railing, fairy lights topped each arch and doorway, turning the inside of the multi-level structure into a scene from-

"It's like the Great Hall at Hogwarts," Fitz breathed upwards, looking so heartbreakingly boyish in his wonderment that Simmons, who would have insisted she already loved him as much as she could, felt herself permeated with a morphine drip of unadulterated tenderness.

"I said as much the first time I saw it," she smiled, remembering.

"Yeah, knowin' you, you were readin' Harry Potter when you were four years old." Fitz turned to her, excitement lighting his features. "We should get a picture. Here, hold my sausage."

She arched an eyebrow, and when he looked over a beat later, phone in hand, his words seemed to catch up to him. An all-too-familiar shade of radish took over his neck and ears. "Er… oh, God."

Simmons chuckled, shaking her head as she returned Fitz his food. Together they posed, snapping a few shots for good measure, until the urge to window shop overtook her. "Come on. Let's find your neighbor a present."

A couple hours and a few successful purchases later, they were starting to get a bit footsore, and Simmons was more than a little chilled from walking around the enclosed, but not indoor, venue. What's more, she hadn't spotted a single sprig of mistletoe - _What sort of Christmas market is this?_ - and despite Fitz's increasing enthusiasm during their recent kisses, she didn't quite feel ready to leave the safety of the current pattern. And, she had to admit, it was actually a bit thrilling, never knowing when she'd see the plant and have a ready excuse to kiss Fitz.

For the moment, she contented herself with idle chatter and shopping, intent on enjoying their last day together for the next three and a half weeks. It wasn't such a long separation, in the grand scheme, and they'd managed it the past two Christmases - but Simmons had always found it difficult to be apart from Fitz, even before she'd tasted his breath on hers and silhouetted his lips with her own. Knowing Fitz, he'd panic over the fact that too many things were changing at once, and let them slip back into familiar territory without so much as word about this new step they seemed to be taking. But having (mostly) determined that Fitz was receptive, the thought of getting to know him in yet another way was making her giddy. It felt a bit like re-watching a favorite TV show and discovering a wealth of nuance that had somehow gone unobserved.

"Oh, look at this!" She held up a holiday jumper with no less than four Santa-hatted tigers on it. "You should wear this to dinner." The giggle on her cheeks invited him to call her bluff.

"And _you_," Fitz plucked the sweater away from her and hung it back up carefully, "shouldn't be allowed to choose clothing for anyone ever."

"Cheeky. I chose most of _your _clothes first year, remember? And look how dapper you are now." To highlight her point, she brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the lapel of his navy wool peacoat. If it weren't for her intervention, Fitz would likely still be running around in his blueberry-printed T-shirt and that awful purple polyester jacket. "I quite like this coat," she murmured, eyes widening a heartbeat later as she peered past his shoulder, "but you _could _do with a hat!" Reaching behind him, she grabbed a crocheted cap with monkey ears down from the rack and yanked it onto his curls.

"Simmons, wha-" Fitz caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and broke into a laugh. "All right, that's not bad. Even if it _is _sized for a primary-schooler." He pulled it off, replacing it on the shelf, and tugged her by the wrist toward the hot chocolate stand.

"_Psh_, it's not the hat that's small, your hair's just getting too big," she teased, enjoying the way his face pinked. She loved Fitz's springy curls, but they did have a tendency to poodle when left unchecked, though they weren't _quite _at that point yet. She knew his mum would probably cut it for him over the break, but for now, it was the exact right length to thread her fingers through. If she ever got the chance, that is. _Where is the damned mistletoe?_

A light breeze signaled they were nearing the exit, early sunset turning the afternoon chill into something a bit more wintry. Simmons shivered, grateful for the ceramic mug of cinnamon hot chocolate Fitz pressed into her hands. _Wouldn't mind him warming me up instead._ She took a few tentative sips, testing the temperature, and, finding it a touch too hot for consumption, wrapped both hands around her cup and sighed at the heat seeping through her fingerless gloves.

"I'm gettin' us the mugs, so we can keep explorin'." Fitz slipped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing a swath of wide, welcome waveforms into the sleeve of her jumper as he sipped on candy cane cocoa, his footsteps prompting her onward towards the grandiose arch that led outside. "I reckon they'll be a nice souvenir, and we could probably use a few extra when we move into our flat at Sci-Ops."

_Our flat._ She couldn't help the ear-linking grin that crossed her face at the words. Simmons liked to pretend this was their first real attempt at living together, given how disastrous the last time had been, and now, with… whatever it was, happening between them, she was looking forward to it even more.

Resting her head on Fitz's shoulder, the crescendoing sound of 'O Holy Night' swelling up from the orchestra in the atrium, and her belly pleasantly infused with hot chocolate, Simmons twined an arm around Fitz's waist and stepped out onto the courtyard, following the throng of shoppers and tourists headed for the 60-foot Christmas tree, which burst into gorgeous color in front of them.

When she tried to take a photo of the glowing red-and-white leviathan, however, it suddenly blinked off. Then back on. And off, and on again. She tried to capture the moment, but the blinks were happening randomly, totally unlike the fairy lights she was accustomed to seeing.

"Why do you think it's flickering like that?"

"Looks like somethin' keeps interruptin' the circuit. Have t' get closer to know for sure." With that, Fitz quickened the pace, maneuvering them towards the base of the tree.

"Fitz…" Simmons started to remind him that even if he could diagnose the problem, they probably wouldn't have time to fix it before they had to leave for her brother's flat - if the market staff would even let them try. But, seeing the familiar quirk of interest gamboling across his face, she fell silent. Fitz loved a puzzle, and there was no reason they oughtn't at least _look_.

When she did turn her gaze to the base of the tree, what she found was a delightful surprise. _**Merry Kissmas**_ read the sign under the now-dim artificial pine, next to a large clump of mistletoe swaying gently in the night breeze. Simmons watched with rapt attention as couples stood on a low platform below the romantic plant, and placed their hands on what were clearly electroconductive leaves. The moment their lips met and completed the circuit, the current would flow into the tree above, illuminating its full height with a million glimmering points across the branches. The display was nothing if not joyous, a testament and a trumpet of the connection between two bodies, twinkling into the night sky for all to see, and Simmons heard something suspiciously like a squeal fly out of her throat.

"This wasn't here before…" She bounced unconsciously on her heels, a bit in awe at the prospect of _their _kiss, their spark, powering that much brightness. "It looks rather fun?" she invited, tilting her head towards the tree.

Fitz's answering smile was equal parts shy and wishful, and he moved her hand out from behind his waist, linking their fingers together before bringing them up to kiss their joined thumbs. Simmons' heart made s'mores in her rib cage, noting the way his cheeks had gone rosy from the cold and perhaps something more. She covered his bare hand with her gloved one, squeezing lightly to help fend off the chill (though if she'd asked, he'd never have admitted to needing it) and tugged him lightly to join the various couples waiting for their turn beneath the mistletoe. Between the cold and the time, she knew they should probably be going soon. But his eyes were high tide and they dragged her in, and as they shuffled into the queue, she spent a few minutes just staring at him, sipping her drink and watching the way he stared right back.

By the time they reached the tree, darkness had fallen, the wind had picked up, and the crowd had mostly thinned out. Eyeing each other like racehorses before the starting shot, they disentangled their linked arms and stepped up onto the small platform. The electronic counter flipped from 1945 to 1946. In an attempt to control her breathing, Simmons set her shopping bags and empty mug down by her feet. Fitz, in defiance of his usual habits, hadn't quite finished his cocoa, so he tossed back the remainder in one gulp, leaving a dab of whipped cream on his nose and upper lip.

"Oh, Lord." He put his own mug with hers, rummaging through his pockets and eyeing the interior of the gift bags. "Have you got a napkin, or…?"

"I'll get it," Simmons offered, and hauled him up to face her squarely. She stretched onto her tiptoes and licked delicately at the tip of his nose, giggling at his expression of horrified recoil, before sliding her eyes shut and descending on his lips. Their last few kisses had been gentle, exploratory, a breaking-in period of sorts - and given that they were quite literally on a pedestal for all the world to see, she'd been unsure if this would push Fitz's modesty too far. But, thankfully, whether it was the false privacy of darkness, the effect of an afternoon spent in clumsy flirtation, or the memory of that morning's unfinished kiss, Fitz seemed eager to set his pace by hers.

The result was, in a word, voracious. Chocolate, mint, and spice combined in a decadent mélange, bursting heady on her tongue. Simmons sampled, she savored, she went back for seconds until she'd learned the recipe of Leopold Fitz's mouth. His breath, misting into hers, carried the scent of peppermint and promises as their hands went hiking in each other's hair. Eager teeth scraped over plump lips, tongues met in wordless jubilee, and arms tightened their hold as FitzSimmons stepped into the sanctuary of the heat between them. His kiss roared in her ears; he felt like home, and hope, and holidays all wrapped together, and compared to the flavor of their twinning lips, Simmons thought she might never find-

"_Oi!_ Romeo! If you're just goin' t' stand there snoggin', at least turn on the fookin' lights!"

Simmons had completely forgotten where they were. She inched her face back, heart quickening at the way Fitz seemed to chase her mouth, and stopped just far enough away to whisper, "She's probably right…"

She reached her fingertips up to rest on the plasticky, touch-sensitive leaves of mistletoe. Her other hand gripped insistently at Fitz's collar, pulling him down to kiss her impatience away. She felt him raise his arm, and a second later, the world outside their closed eyelids exploded into spectacular color.

* * *

><p>AN: There are a few references in this chapter.

Fitz's blueberry shirt and purple polyester jacket are just two of the questionable fashion choices we've seen from Iain de Caestecker in his social media candids, which I daresay I doubt I would've noticed if not for the efforts of leopolds and Anthropologicality.

I reference myself a couple times here, with Simmons helping Fitz pick out his wardrobe and the vague mention of them living together for the first time (that one's still in progress).

The significance of the electronic counter on the Kissmas tree is the years in which Peggy Carter founded SHIELD. (Thanks to my beta Amanda for helping me with that, she is much more knowledgeable than I am about all things Marvel.)

The South Bank market and Covent Garden market are both really nice places to shop in London during the winter holidays. You should look up pictures of Covent Garden market, the decorations are insanely gorgeous, and yes, the Kiss-mas tree is an actual thing! (Thanks to starbrightnights for helping me with ideas for what to do in London during Christmas.)


	6. Chapter 6

_Sunday December 23 (evening)_

**The time after that, she let him show her.**

"You've certainly got a knack for decorating!" Simmons complimented her brother, surprised. "Or should I credit Olivia for this?" Simmons gestured at the glittering ornament wreath hanging on the door, the elegant Christmas tree in the corner, the fir garland atop the window, and the holly-patterned dish towels hanging in the kitchenette.

"Me?" The bubbly law student laughed like a bell. "No, contrary to popular opinion, I don't _actually _live here. This was all Ed and Morg."

John grinned, nodding towards the counter. "Festive pair, those guys. They're to thank for the gingerbread cookies as well."

"Mmmf," Fitz praised, looking up from the plate with brown crumbs dropping off his jumper. A streak of green frosting decorated the corner of his mouth as he hunched one shoulder, unabashed. "What? I'm feelin' peckish."

Simmons' reprimand was tinged with resignation. "That's because we're about to have dinner."

"It's all right, Germ," John cut in, ignoring the way her nose wrinkled at the use of her old nickname. "No one else was going to eat them."

"Speak for yourself," Olivia cut in. "I'm convinced those two are trying to make me fat."

"Hush," John gave her cheek a quick kiss. "If they are, it's only because they're jealous that you're prettier." He hefted a pot roast in oven-mitted hands and set it carefully on the counter before carving and plating the thick slices of meat, adding stewed potatoes and gravy from the sides of the pan. "You may want to grab a fork now, Fitz, and a spot on the sofa."

"Ah," Simmons nodded. "I take it we're eating on our laps then?" She moved to fetch the cutlery before taking two of the plates off of him, passing one to Fitz.

"We've got a coffee table," her brother shot back defensively. "We're not cavemen."

"I didn't say anything," she teased, settling on the couch. There really _wasn't _space for a proper dinner table and chairs. "And it's fine, you know. I'm not picky, and Fitz can eat almost anywhere."

"Mmm," Fitz agreed around a mouth full of roast. Still standing, he balanced his dish in one hand and gave John a thumbs-up with the other. "Delicious."

"Just wait 'til you try Liv's figgy pudding. It'll knock your socks off."

"Sounds great." Fitz grinned at the thought, his plate nearly clean already, until the smile fell off his face and his eyes went wide. Simmons followed his stare to a spot on the wall just above the short hallway connecting the bedrooms to the living room and saw the tiny sprig of mistletoe pinned there.

"Oh, John! You didn't mention there was _mistletoe!_" Simmons' tone held a variety of suggestions as she trained her gaze on Fitz, watching the fluster creep adorably up his neck, his eyes snapping to her brother for half a second before casting down.

"Hah. I think Morgan put that up for us…" John shot his girlfriend an adoring glance.

"Pffft." Olivia waved a hand, laughingly dismissive. "_Us_, nothing. They've ended up under it more than we ever did!"

But Simmons wasn't paying much attention anymore. She was busy watching the way Fitz's eyes avoided hers as he went for a second helping of pot roast, and how he chose the farthest possible seat from her when he settled back down to eat.

Her brows knitted in confusion, but after all, the sofa was well occupied between her and John, and Fitz's armchair _was _closer to the candy-cane-laden tree, so Simmons tamped down the sudden tension in her throat, pulling taut like a drawstring. It was only when they'd finished dessert and were all moving about the room, pitching in with the clean-up, that she noticed Fitz giving the mistletoe a wide and careful berth. And although he was still cracking jokes and making small talk with John and Olivia, it became clear that he was just as deliberately avoiding her side.

_But Fitz __**always **__stands by me._

The icewater sting of rejection pricked at her eyelids as she considered the situation. For someone who'd already kissed her twice that day, his current behavior made him appear awfully keen not to repeat the experience. So Simmons did what any self-respecting woman would do. She planted herself in front of the hall and waited him out. _He'll need the loo at __**some **__point_.

Nearly an hour later, however, Fitz was sitting placidly on the couch, cup of hot mulled wine in hand, pretending to watch some awful retrospective on the telly and all but ignoring her with a smirk on his face. Simmons had been engaged in a rowdy discussion of tort reform with Olivia, who unlike many lawyers, still carried a staunch idealism about her, holding fast to it like a parachute. Then the younger woman stepped away to help John with some last-minute packing, and Simmons was left with a choice to make.

Her hurt was turning to annoyance, as she was fitfully aware that they had less than a day left together before she and John went on to their parents' home and Fitz got on a train to Scotland. Simmons couldn't - _wouldn't_ - suffer through an evening of awkward silence. If he'd changed his mind about kissing her and wanted to step back, so be it, but she was done waiting around. Her eyes flitted upwards, making certain she was situated correctly. "Fiiii-itz," she wheedled, "come talk to me!" She waved him over, certain he took her meaning.

Fitz chuckled. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am, Jemma. But there is an empty seat on the couch, if you'd like to claim it." His offer held a hint of challenge, déjà vu striking fast as she recalled an evening two years before when they'd similarly taunted each other. That night had ended in a kiss; perhaps tonight still could - but damned if she wouldn't be getting some answers first.

Rolling her eyes at his stubbornness, Simmons made her way to the couch and perched on the cushion next to him. "Fitz."

He raised his eyebrows, smugness dropping as he picked up on the brambles in her tone. "What's wrong?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

He scrunched his face up in befuddlement, concern coloring his words. "Wha- Jemma? What're y' talkin' about?"

She huffed softly, checking to make sure John and Olivia were still on the other side of the room. "All night, you've been," she lowered her voice just in case, unsure of how direct she could be without blushing, "standoffish."

"No I haven't," he insisted immediately. "I'm bein' polite."

"You know what I mean." She looked pointedly back at the mistletoe.

"Yeah, okay, Simmons, maybe I do." Fitz leaned toward her, a firm whisper falling from his throat. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to paw at a man's sister in front of him, in his own home."

"_Paw _at me? Excuse me, when was that decided?" _The nerve._ "And don't you think it's a bit of a waste of our last night to spend it worrying about my brother?"

"Well I don't exactly know what's happenin' here, do I?" He motioned to the space between them. "Y've only ever kissed me when some parasitic twig forced you to-"

"That's not fair-" she began, only to clam up as he barrelled over her.

"- and how d' you think I felt earlier, when y' introduced me as your _friend_?" The peevishness was machine-gunning out now, harsh whispers cutting into her like pampas grass. "I've simply been behavin' accordingly."

"You _are _my friend, you ridiculous muppet. What was I supposed to say?" It wasn't as if _she _truly knew what they were anymore, either.

Fitz scoffed. "Oh, that's fine. That's fantastic. Thanks for clearin' that up. Now if y' don't mind, _old chum_, I've got t' take a piss. Try not to ambush me on m' way out of the toilet."

_Unbelievable._ Simmons watched Fitz hide himself away in the bathroom, her bewildered brain racing. How had they gone from the lovey-dovey couple on the riverbank that morning, to this? In a frustrated snit, she went to find the others.

They were in the kitchen, wiping down counters and putting away the dry dishes. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"All taken care of," Olivia announced brightly as she clattered the last fork into the drawer.

"Oh. All right." She could use a distraction, however. "John? Would you like me to wrap mum's present?" Her brother was a notorious procrastinator.

He flashed her an indulgent grin, and she was struck by how he'd managed to go from a chubby, snotty teenager to a man grown in the last few years. "You're meant to be on holiday… relax! Why don't you go get ready for bed? I was just about to walk Liv home, anyway."

"Erm… okay." She really couldn't, not with Fitz tying up the loo, but she wasn't about to mention it. "Be careful outside - they're expecting ice and snow tonight."

He rolled his eyes. "It's just down the road and back, Germ. Honestly. I'm not the same clumsy porker you grew up with; you can stop big-sistering me now."

"I most certainly will not," she protested, a hint of a laugh sneaking onto her features. "But perhaps I'll sit and read for a bit."

The mention of presents had also reminded her of the flat box sitting on top of her suitcases, and she went to retrieve it, along with her battered copy of _The Name of the Wind_. When she turned around, her brother was standing behind her as his girlfriend gathered up her coat and purse.

"You feeling all right? You seem… I don't know."

"I'm fine." She shook her head at his discerning expression. "It's nothing. Give this to Olivia for me, will you?"

"Hey," he _tsked_. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but dinner was wonderful, and I wanted to." She paused, commending his choice in women with a smile. "You've done well, John; she's lovely."

"She is at that." He tucked the box into his jacket, his eyes tracking the girl in question.

It was as effusive as her brother ever got, and she elbowed him affectionately. "I've missed you, you know." It wasn't that her family always understood her - she was used to that, child prodigy and all - but they made her feel welcome, and that counted.

"Odd. I haven't missed _you _at all," he teased. "Right, then. You two don't burn the place down before I get back." With that, John turned towards the general direction of the loo. "Later, mate!"

Linking his arm with Olivia's, John stepped out into the cold, leaving Simmons alone in the flat with Fitz.

Simmons sighed and pressed her lips together, bringing her hands up to press against the sides of her neck. Despite the angry words that still clawed at the back of her brain, she knew they wouldn't get a better chance to talk for quite some time.

"Fitz? Are you still in there?" _Of course he is. What a silly thing to ask._ She knocked cautiously on the bathroom door, hearing the faucet come on. When he finally stepped out into the hall, Fitz didn't seem angry, but the slouch of his shoulders spoke to a different sort of upset.

"Hey," she offered quietly.

"Hi," he grimaced, shamefaced. "Jemma, I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "I didn't mean t' be such an arse. An'- I don't want t' quarrel with you. I apologize."

The alligator that had been swimming around her stomach all but disappeared at the pain and humility in his expression. _Of course Fitz cares about you._ "I don't want to argue either," she rushed to assure him. They stood uncomfortably for a moment, staring at each other and trying to act like they weren't, until they both spoke at the same time.

"We should get ready for-" "Are you sleepy?"

Simmons smiled nervously and grabbed her bags. "I'm just going to get into my PJs? Then perhaps we can find a terrible Christmas movie or something."

He nodded quickly, and by the time she emerged from the restroom, he'd gotten changed as well. She bit down a rush of affection at the sight of him in his usual ratty grey tee and the pyjama bottoms she'd loaned him their first year.

"Better not let John see you in those, he might want them back," she cautioned fondly. Really, if anyone was going to insist Fitz remove his trousers, it had damn well better be her. _Stop._ She didn't need to be thinking that way when they'd only _just _had a fight about not wanting to kiss each other.

"No, these are- wait, what?" A modicum of panic seeped into the set of Fitz's brow. "Should I wear somethin' else? Should I return them?"

"It's fine, Fitz," she laughed. "I borrowed them _ages _ago. I promise; he won't even remember."

Seeing her air quotes around the word "borrowed", Fitz grumbled something about being glad he'd never had any thieving siblings.

"Actually…" _Could we just go back to snogging?_ "Could we exchange gifts now? I'd prefer if we didn't do that in front of John. Wouldn't want to make him feel bad."

"Yeah. Yeah, all right. Let me just…" Fitz dodged around her and went to his knapsack, which he'd left on the floor by the couch.

"Oh! Good. Me too."

They stepped in front of each other, holding out their presents, and gingerly switched packages. Fitz made short work of Simmons' elaborate green-and-gold wrapping, while Simmons' curiosity had her peering into the tiny, sparkly, snowflake-stamped bag, which appeared empty save for a few sheets of pristine white tissue paper.

"Potpourri?" Fitz held up a small red tin, puzzled.

"Oh! No… it's," Simmons hesitated, not wanting to ruin the surprise, "well, you'll see. Smell it."

He pulled the lid off and took a deep sniff. "Is this my custom blend?"

She beamed. "Cinnamon, cloves, anise, oranges, licorice. Did I get it right?"

Fitz nodded happily, closing the top of the can only to open it back up a second later and breathe it in again. The blissful look on his face was thanks already, but she wasn't done, rambling on excitedly. "And with a bit of help from a friend in Botanical Engineering, I developed a way to hyper-caffeinate the tea leaves _without _giving you a horrid bellyache. So. Only use this when you absolutely need to stay up." Seeing his dubious expression, she pressed. "I mean it, Fitz. More than four cups in a day could kill you."

He gulped out a "Roger that," setting the container judiciously off to the side and wiping his hands on his shirt.

Simmons laughed. "Don't worry, I made some regular-strength as well." She pulled a larger green tin out of her bag. "See? Just remember: green - good to go; red - use caution."

He took it with a shy grin. "This is really thoughtful, Jemma. You're the best."

His reaction had set off a flock of whooping cranes soaring in her chest, and she rustled at the tissue in her own gift, until a couple of plain metal hair clips tumbled out. They were beautiful in their own way, glossy, and patterned in a swirl of bronze and honey hues, but ultimately, they were fairly unremarkable snap clips, the sort a stylist at the salon might use to corral pesky tendrils.

"I, er…" Fitz scratched at the hairline behind his ear. "Right. Well, okay. I- y' see, it doesn't seem nearly so special now, compared to your death-tea -"

"Fitz…" she warned.

"And I tried to match them t' your hair-"

Her eyebrows went up, impressed. "You succeeded." It was startling, really, when she took the time to examine them. "And what are these markings…?"

"Ah. Glad you asked." Fitz waved an index finger, encouraged, and shifted into scientist-showoff mode. "I designed these little beauties t' be the Swiss Army knife of hair accessories. Totally unbreakable, completely weatherproof." He looked up, making sure he had her full attention before continuing. "Now, I remembered what you said about none of your dresses havin' pockets, and I thought- say y' need to cut somethin' and you don't _have _a knife. This edge here is a miniature saw."

Her thoughts immediately began to race. "Hmm. That could be useful if I ever go into the field…"

He snorted. "Field agents? With our assessment scores? I'll stay in the lab, thanks." He paused for breath and effect. "There, see this?" He pressed a fingertip into a small opening at the top of the barrette. "8-milimeter wrench. That side," he pointed, "will work as a ruler, and here," he snapped one open, indicating the tip and both ends, "you've got your Philips-head screwdriver and two sizes of flat-head." He puffed himself up. "And I'll wager that bottle opener comes in handy before long."

He finished his spiel and planted his hands on his hips, watching her proudly. She was overwhelmed, however, unable to think of what to say. _He designed this? And matched my hair color?_ The sheer level of effort and care it had taken left her positively agog.

Fitz's face fell at her continued silence and he looked at his shoes, muttering. "Well anyway, you're always tuckin' your hair out of your face, so… y' could just use 'em for that." He shrugged. "Wouldn't be half as cool, though."

"No… I mean it." Her mind was going a mile a minute, in awe of his creativity. "This would be a wonderful addition to the female operatives' field kit. Fitz, you've got to show this to Weaver!"

"Oh. Yeah, I s'pose I could… but do _you _like it?"

In lieu of an answer, Simmons launched herself at him, pulling him into a fierce hug. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." After a few moments, rather than drawing back, she remained where she was, her face pressed into his shoulder, his arms taking up residence around her waist.

"Pffft," he dissembled. "I don't believe that for a second." She could feel him turning red next to her cheek. "But I'm glad you like it. Not that it was easy, y'know, makin' something like that without you catchin' on."

"I can imagine," she mumbled into his neck.

"It would've been fine if you'd ever let me have a moment's peace in the lab. You're always buzzin' around, checkin' out my equipment."

_Phrasing_. She rolled her eyes, but decided against embarrassing him this time. Besides, regardless of which equipment he meant… he wasn't _wrong_. And she was having far too much fun holding on to him to ruin the moment.

Which was why, when Fitz suddenly stepped backwards towards the hall, she willingly went along. They stumbled slightly, still wrapped up in each other's embrace, and after a few steps of shuffling and turning, Fitz set his chin on top of her hair, tipping his face back. "Where did…? Erm, Simmons? D' you know what happened t' the mistletoe?"

She tried not to smile, just in case he thought she was mocking his confusion. She really did try not to smile, but failed, as she gazed up and explained, "I thought you didn't care for mistletoe. I took it down."

His eyes locked on hers, unsure. "Oh."

Fitz had been honest with her. He'd apologized. It was time for her to step up.

"What we've been doing, Fitz- it's never been about conforming to some silly tradition. I've…" she swallowed. _All in._ "I've been wanting to do this for some time." Her cheeks reddened and his cheeks perked as he processed her words. "That said…" She beamed at him, snatched up the wayward sprig from a nearby shelf and plopped it atop his head, where it stayed held in place by a bed of curls. "Now you _have _to kiss me. It's Christmas law."

Fitz let out a belly laugh, his face breaking into the kind of grin she associated most with scientific discovery. "Subtle."

She gave him an overly innocent look, fingers planted firmly against the nape of his neck. "I didn't make the rules."

"But y' love t' follow them." His right hand came up to span her jaw, backing her gently against the wall before letting his momentum carry him through into the kiss.

_This._ This was what she'd been waiting for. That moment when Fitz finally stopped overthinking and started trusting, that untested space between the classroom and the bedroom, that breathy hitch between _friend _and _more_.

His mouth explored hers like a cartographer, mapping her out with nothing more than the measured slide of lips and tongue. She sank into the kiss, lingering on the flavor of sweet, spiced wine, letting it carry her into an earnest intoxication from which she never planned to recover. When he moved to her neck, she inhaled, high and strong, trying to photograph the manly-clean scent of him with her mind, and when he nipped carefully at the soft skin over her pulse, she very nearly lost her knees. Trapping a groan in her larynx, Jemma raked her fingers into his hair, and barely registered the quiet _paff_ of something landing near her foot until Fitz paused, his voice hot against her ear.

"Should we pick that up?"

She kicked the blasted plant away as he drew back, tilting her head and letting the '_I love you but are you bloody joking'_ spell out over her face.

"Message received." He renewed his worship of her earlobe, paying tithes to her throat and collarbone in turn, and Simmons blessed whatever instinct had possessed her to throw on a camisole to sleep in, rather than something a bit more modest. She could honestly do with being a lot _less _modest at the moment, a choked-off whimper swelling against her palate and her jackrabbit heart thudding so loud she thought the whole world might hear.

Fitz had stationed his hands chastely at her waist and cheek, but now he dragged his fingers - those long, capable, _frustrating _digits - into a tangle at the back of her head, tipping her chin back to secure a better angle for his attentions. She squeezed her eyes shut against the dizziness, everything beyond their embrace swimming out of control till Jemma gripped at his shoulders and anchored herself to the solidity of his form. _Closer._ She ached to feel him against her, to absorb the roughness of his stubble, the warmth of his sigh against her cheek and the soft scratch of his curls tickling her nose, so she arched her hips off the wall and pressed her chest into his body, earning a low moan for her efforts.

"Jemma…" Fitz's voice was rough, and raw, and she felt a shiver start deep in her core. Then his hand on her waist began to travel, the strong press of those callous-hardened fingertips skimming over the curve of her arse, and her heart paused in its tempo like the swoop of an elevator starting. "Jemma…" On his breath, her name was a confession, a constant, a creed. She grasped at his shirt, urging him nearer, begging him to make good on the quiet promise of her name on his lips.

And then, abruptly, they heard the distinctive rattle of a key in the door.

"Shite," Fitz gasped, as they broke away, flushed and panting. Shoving herself out from under him, Simmons dashed to the refrigerator and held open the icebox in an attempt to calm her overheated skin. Fitz, for his part, vaulted over the back of the couch into the middle seat, pulling a pillow to his chest and clicking on the telly.

"Brrrrr!" John stamped his feet dramatically, yanking off his scarf and hat and hanging them up. "You weren't kidding, Germ. We'll have to be extra careful driving in the morning." By the time he turned his focus to the rest of the room, Jemma was spooning ice cream into a pair of bowls and Fitz was, well-

"Is that _Jersey Shore_?" John asked with a chuckle.

Fitz's head snapped up, eyes focusing on the screen for the first time. "I'm not- I was just flippin' through…"

John put his hands up, palms out, signaling his lack of judgment. "Whatever floats your boat." He walked over to Simmons, dropping a peck on her cheek. "No ice cream for me, I'm knackered. Just going to turn in for the night."

"All right," she hummed, replacing the Oreo-mint-chip in the freezer and carrying the two dishes out to the coffee table. "Thanks again for letting us sleep on your sofa."

John shrugged off the gratitude. "It's only one night. Oh, and," he disappeared into the hall and returned with a few thick blankets and a pillow, "there's an air mattress in Ed and Morg's room if you need it."

"Thanks, mate," Fitz called back, licking a dollop of green ice cream off his spoon. He grabbed one of the blankets and spread it over himself, making sure to cover his legs, before hunkering down into the cushions and reaching one foot out to hook against Simmons' calf in a silent _c'mere_.

"Oh, and Germ- stop giving my pyjama bottoms away, yeah?" John smirked at Simmons, daring her to contradict him. Fitz's eyes became distressed plates; John continued delightedly. "Oh, no worries, Fitz, they're _much _too small on me… Actually, if you want them, I _might _still have a pair left over from my prep school days…"

Simmons narrowed her eyes, mock-glaring at her brother for taking the mickey about Fitz's slight build. "Good _night_!" She waved him off with biting sweetness, and laced her fingers through Fitz's, more than ready to snuggle in for the night. John paused at his bedroom door, one brow lifted knowingly at the sight of them - and when she met his gaze, he nodded, stamping his brotherly approval with a thumbs-up.

The faint click of the latch was all the excuse she needed to crawl up Fitz's body and brush her nose against his cheek. "I'm going to miss you over the holiday."

Fitz sighed heavily, kissing her forehead. "Yeah."

"At least we've got something to look forward to when we get back…" she teased, running her nails over his evening scruff.

"Mmm?" He quirked an eye, a hint of confusion playing out almost childlike on his face. Biting her bottom lip, she watched his bafflement evaporate under a blush so ridiculously hopeful that she both couldn't look at him, and couldn't look away. "Y' mean-"

Dropping her chin onto his chest, muffling a laugh into his shirt, Simmons glanced up at him from under her lashes.

"Oh, Fitz."

* * *

><p>AN:

That's it! Merry Christmas, Starry, I hope you liked it! (Well, it's Christmas Eve, which is plenty Christmas enough, I say.)

First off, a big roaring thank-you to my beta, amandajbruce, as usual. I don't have to tell you, Starry, how great Amanda is as a beta, but I do want to say, for anyone who doesn't know, she is fantastic. Everything she does is helpful. Also, her fics are the bomb diggity, and yes, I'm dating myself (wow, I'm a cheap date).

Thank you also to thelatenightstoryteller and badscienceshenanigans, who helped me by providing "fresh eyes" on the final draft and kept me from confusing folks about things like who was who and where they were and what the deal was with that magic tree.

Thanks to starbrightnights for helping me figure out what a more-or-less realistic living situation would've been for Simmons' brother, and of course for all her help with British slang, and London attractions.

I got the idea for Fitz's custom blend of tea from a fic called His Tea, by Emma_writes_things, over on AO3.

Jemma's hair clip is inspired by a real multitool hair clip you can buy on most gadget websites. I changed it to add a bottle opener because Jemma seems to drink beer, so I figured she'd appreciate it.

There's a reference in here to both The Shots You Don't Take and Oh To Be Young - and hey! We finally see the truth behind the "mystery" of the pajama pants!

Fitz's gray tee shirt is another little nod to the "trashion victim" style of Iain de Caestecker, again, brought to my attention by leopolds and Anthropologicality.

This whole gift exchange thing has been really fun. I don't know if this is my favorite fic, but it's definitely the most fun I had writing one, and it was great being StarryDreamer01's Secret Santa! Love you, doll! Have a wonderful holiday.


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